The Day God Smote His Son

THE DAY GOD SMOTE HIS SON Man had had his brutal fun with Jesus there that day; They'd taken up the whip and beat His body in the fray. They'd spit upon His precious face and crushed His precious head With thorns as sharp as they could find, and watched as there He bled. They laughed at such a spectacle and then led Him away, Compelled someone to bear His cross as many watched that day. They took three spikes, a rugged tree, and nailed His hands and feet And dropped the cross into the hole; that made the job complete. He hung there now in agony, and then the noonday sun Soon disappeared for three long hours, and new suffering begun. For now His Father had His turn to bare His holy arm And punish His begotten Son for sin's curse and its harm. He gave His Son what I deserved, the beating and the hell, No one could see in those dark hours, and words could never tell. It was not man in hatred now who punished God's dear Son, But God Himself, the one who loved, and then when He was done He walked away, left Christ alone, to cry there in despair And wonder why His Father left and wonder if He cared. But in His heart of hearts He'd known this day would come to pass And for the joy that lay before, He would do what God asked. Even if it meant all alone He'd suffer on that tree, And take the wrath of God and man for sinners just like me. The price He paid for sin that day is more than words can tell, Just like the fate that I deserved in that eternal hell. Oh, what a love! I trust it now, receiving it so free, I thank Him for the price He paid for sinners just like me! I thank Him for the blood He shed, for all that He has done On that day on Golgotha's hill—the day God smote His Son.